


From Lackluster to Technicolor (i)

by enjolraes



Series: From Lackluster to Technicolor [1]
Category: Asoiaf - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: College AU, F/F, F/M, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Game of Thrones AU, anyways this is not for me anyways i need to shut up, enjoy, idk if u can tell but i personally do not ship tyrion and sansa I'm soRRY but, its for my darling angel butters, this isn't very well done bUT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1814905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolraes/pseuds/enjolraes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i saw this on tumblr, buT it's about people who see everything in black and white until they meet their soulmate. for sansa, it's increasingly blacker and blacker until she meets the uncle of her sadistic, twisted boyfriend, and nothing matters besides him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Lackluster to Technicolor (i)

There are boyfriends who are jerks, and then there is Joffrey Baratheon. 

Sansa dated many assholes, liars, dicks, the whole nine yards, but god damn if he wasn't the worst. "He likes to terrorize puppies for fun," washer best friend Margaery's go to line when anyone inquired about him concernedly in Sansa's classes, her long light brown hair tickling the back of Sansa's neck. Sansa just rolled her eyes, knowing that Marg has only seen the half of it. 

Every day is the same: monotonous black and white classrooms and faces and homework that never seems to end. Sansa can almost feel every red slash that's tinted dark grey on her calculus homework like a slap across the face, and the gods know she's had her fair share of those. Every morning, Sansa wakes up at 4:30 takes a shower, wraps her long brilliantly colored red hair in a towel and quickly tiptoes back to her room, where she curls up in bed for a half an hour before she gets up, begrudgingly, and turns on her salon mirror's lights to illuminate the bruises and scrapes from the previous night. There's usually a pound of foundation missing every morning and concealer runs out on a weekly basis.

"Seriously, Sansa," Marg had asked one morning as she returned from her Women in Politics seminar and threw herself on Sansa's bed as she finished applying her third coat of mascara. "You're a knockout without all that stuff caked on your face. You don't need to apply it every morning." 

Sansa lightly dabbed more ivory concealer on her face. "Yes," she muttered darkly, "I do."

Margaery had narrowed her eyes, but didn't press. "I saw your boyfriend earlier," she said, in a voice that rivaled the bitter tone of Sansa's a minute before. "He was yelling at Professor Lannister."

"It's his grandfather," Sansa sighed, picking up her bag. "I gotta go, Marg, I have class."

"Sansa," Margaery called out softly, and picked her head up from the pillow, long hair spiraling lazily out of the messy bun that was a mountain at the crown of her head. "Is your world colorful with him?"

No, Sansa thought, with Joffrey I only see darkness. She simply shook her head, as Margaery smiled sadly, picking up her study guide. "Find the color, Sansa. God knows you need it more than I do."

*** 

A few weeks later, there was a pit and Sansa was surely spiraling into it. She had tried to break it off with Joffrey on three occasions, but had chickened out worse each time. There had been dinner with his family, which was nerve wracking to begin with: his father, Robert, was the most politically powerful man in England, and his mother, Cersei, was terrifying, to say the least. His grandfather, Tywin (or better known to Sansa as Professor Lannister, the toughest history teacher in all of Westeros University) was just as grim as Robert was loud, and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair all night as Joffrey's firm hand rested on her thigh. It was supposed to look like an act of love, she was sure, but subtlety was not her boyfriend's strong point and it felt vice like against her leg.

"You belong to me," it seemed to say, and that did not scream love to Sansa. 

It screamed possession.

And she was not a toy for Joffrey to torment. 

***

She missed home, simple as that. Sansa's father was a higher-up in politics himself, and an old war buddy of Robert's. But Ned was blind to what the rest of his best friend's family was like, and Sansa, who had crushed on the boy with golden hair and piercing blue eyes growing up, inwardly kicked herself every time his lips pressed forcefully to hers. 

Sansa missed her family: her mother brushing the waterfall of auburn that tumbled from her head in soft waves every night; Robb taking the time out of the day to sit with her as her fingers feverishly worked the shading tools on her fashion design app; Jon trying and failing to make conversation with her about her classes (which wasn't for lack of trying, he could just be very doe-eyed and clueless); Bran and Rickon tinkering with something for the animals; and even Arya, who jumped off the walls and gracefully destroyed most things that had the misfortune to stumble across her path.

In fact, some days, Sansa missed Arya most of all. Her bravery and no-nonsense attitude towards most things was something that Sansa envied, and she knew that Arya wouldn't have tolerated Joffrey's bullshit for a second. They fought, and fought often, but sometimes laying awake at night is boring without the clash of swords from the armory that was confidently next to her bedroom at home.

As much as she missed her family, Sansa also longed for Winterfell Manor and its long marble hallways that threw off the most deadly of chills, even in the height of summer. Everything at school was in such stark contrast than that of the colors at home: where Winterfell was in endless shades of gray, her life at school was becoming increasingly black and white. Joffrey insisted that she spend the night with him in his dorm almost every night, and she rarely got any sleep as his body pressed heavily against her own, snores echoing into the pit of darkness that was slowly enveloping her mind. 

***

Margaery tried time and time again to get Sansa out of her room, off campus, and to her favorite little club that was sweaty and sleazy. It wasn't Sansa's scene, not by a long shot, but she could feel the music thudding tirelessly throughout her body as she watched her best friend dance in ways she only wished she knew how to do. Margaery was alluring, and wickedly sharp as she was sexy. Sansa envied that: Marg's world had been cast back into shadows after her fiancé died, but she still lived every day like it was cast back into Technicolor. 

She could sometimes hear Margaery sobbing late at night, weeping for Renly and the future she lost, and felt guilty as she prayed endlessly for Joffrey's death. Margaery's future had been stolen wickedly out from under her feet, but Sansa was wishing desperately for hers to be only beginning. 

***

More time passed and Sansa felt more and more bound to Joffrey and felt even the lightest of white starting to fade away. She spent days on end in his room as he pressed himself into her, wishing for the strength to get up and walk away.  
But she was always on the floor, shrinking smaller and smaller as the darkness grew quickly, even as the weather began to bloom outside. Sansa heard girls in her classes yapping excitedly about how their lives had been lit up by their significant others, marveling at how beautiful the summer was with the people they loved. 

Sansa didn't know summer. By now, she was thinking she never would.

***

Weeks passed. Sansa visited home after finishing all of her exams, and was greeted by her mother and Robb. Everyone else was off somewhere: Arya was studying abroad, her father was at the Summit with Robert, Bran and Rickon had gone on a hiking trip with Hodor, and Jon and his (increasingly serious) girlfriend, Ygritte, were sightseeing around Europe. Robb took her out for ice cream with his new bride, Talisa, and talked incessantly about how bright everything had gotten. Sansa smiled and pretended that her world was lighting up, too.

Catelyn saw right through her daughter's facade and left tea and lemon muffins by Sansa's bed every morning. She woke up and checked her phone for messages from Joffrey before she ate, though, and was usually too terrified of his reaction to keep anything down. 

***

When college started back up in the fall, Sansa had lost eleven pounds and her mental health completely. She went through the motions as Margaery lived vibrantly, even in the wake of Renly's death, and listened as Marg described a girl with short blonde hair and broad shoulders whose smile was like the dawn of a new day.

She spent more and more time at King's Landing with Cersei and her snide remarks. Sansa met Joffrey's uncle Jaime, who had his nephew's body; but was softer in places where Joffrey was sharp and wicked. He had a heart of gold where the rest of his family's were rusted straight through. Tywin questioned her about school, about Margaery, about how Joffrey was treating her. Sansa felt Joffrey's vice travel from her leg to clamp around her neck, and she smiled through tears threatening to break through.

"I like Jaime," she had mentioned softly to Joffrey as they drove back to school one stormy night, rain hurling itself at the windshield of his car. "He's nice."

"He's an idiot," Joffrey snarled. "All of my family is. Wait until you meet Tyrion, he's a bigger sarcastic dick than my grandfather is."

"Tywin isn't that bad," Sansa had mumbled softly as she pressed her head to the car window. She was enjoying the visits with Joffrey's family more and more than in the past, his uncle's presence greatly taking the pressure of hers. 

"Whatever," Joffrey said offhandedly, but his grip tightened against her wrist. Sansa felt the familiar overwhelming feeling of darkness begin to swallow her, but it was tinged with something that tasted like iron. 

 

***

Sansa began to feel her strength return in tiny increments as winter crept nearer and nearer. As people at school complained about the cold, she went dancing through it, making snow angels in jeans and a sweatshirt while others piled on three layers of clothing. "Stop doing that," Joffrey had commanded one night as they went for a walk around the campus to see the Christmas lights, "you'll catch a cold. I don't want you to get me sick." 

"I'm stronger than you think," Sansa has answered brazenly, and then darted away before the impact of her words hit him. She met Margaery and Brienne for coffee one night, without Joffrey, and could tell even in the shades of black and white that obscured her vision that Marg's world had again spun into color. 

Her own wasn't looking as bleak as it once had. 

***

Two weeks later, Joffrey brought Sansa home again. He and Tywin and Jaime went out in the yard to shoot Joffrey's new crossbow at deer that darted through the woods. She stayed inside with Cersei and Myrcella, Joffrey's younger sister, who was home for winter break. "Your uncle will be here soon," Cersei had said to Myrcella, her tone more pissed and cool than it usually was. "I need a drink."

Sansa looked over at Myrcella, who clearly wasn't sharing her mother's bitterness. "I love my uncle," she whispered to Sansa. "He's funny and puts Joffrey in his place. You'll probably appreciate that," she added slyly, and Sansa looked up in surprise. 

"Myrcella," Sansa began, "I love your brother-"

"You're smart, Sansa," Myrcella interrupted as she walked on her tiptoes over to the sink and filled up her glass of water to the very brim. She perched herself on the counter as she sipped, looking as Sansa pensively. "No girlfriend of Joff's has ever loved him. They wanted the money or whatever else. Nobody had ever wanted him for him. And I don't blame them. So don't play dumb with me."

Sansa blinked, startled.

"He's an asshole," Myrcella said matter-of-factly. 

Sansa closed her eyes as the past year flashed in the forefront of her mind. The doorbell rang, and Myrcella popped up suddenly and rushed into the foyer, where she heard exclamations and excitement wafting through the air. She stood, swallowed, and walked behind Joffrey's little sister to where someone even smaller stood.

"This is Uncle Tyrion," Myrcella beamed, her hand resting on his shoulder. Sansa heard Cersei huff, Jaime say hello guardedly, and saw Tywin roll his eyes as if Tyrion's very presence was driving him up the wall. Joffrey even aimed his crossbow at his uncle as if he was about to shoot him, and knowing Joffrey, Sansa wouldn't put it past him. Tyrion was a dwarf, she realized suddenly, but that wasn't the brightest light dawning above her head.

Because Sansa's bleak world of black and white had suddenly been blasted into Technicolor.


End file.
